


Blood & Roses

by biohazard_babe



Series: Blood & Roses [1]
Category: Biohazard - Fandom, Resident Evil
Genre: Crime, F/M, Horror, Survival Horror, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biohazard_babe/pseuds/biohazard_babe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raccoon City can be a strange place, and it's only getting stranger. Watch the world unfold as Raccoon City becomes gripped with terror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood & Roses

**Author's Note:**

> As a long time fan of the Biohazard series I was hesitant to post the story that I've been working on for so long. I've spent a lot of time developing the character of Delia and attempting to keep her faithful to the series and not an unnatural addition to the cast. This chapter has been hanging around for a while, and I have not forgotten about it. What was once the first chapter will become the second or third. Please hold tight as these edits take place!
> 
> I use music for inspiration, so selections may populate chapter titles or themes, I'll be sure to post the music along with the chapters in the future.
> 
> As always, I don't own anything within this tale of horror besides Delia and the few made up characters that populate the scene. 
> 
> Constructive feedback is always welcomed. 
> 
> Thanks and happy reading!  
> ~Biohazard_Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes have been made, but can you ever lock your heart away?

The clinking of glassware filled the air as the International Conference on Biological Terrorism was well underway. The black tie event was invite only, and while it was supposed to be an event that would raise funds and awareness for Bio-Terrorism and the plight of people harmed by unethical research, it was well known that this is where the wheels of policy turned. Washington had seen plenty of these events, and undoubtedly would see more. The capital was bright that night, sparking with the enthusiasm or the event. Keeping close to her brother’s elbow, Delia Olympus was quick to survey the scene. It wasn’t as horrible as the events she’d attended in Europe. At least in Europe there was a semblance of concern about actual events and their effect on innocent civilians. Having been approached by a possible employer, Delia put on a winning smile. Generally interested parties spoke to Alexander, though the siblings cut a stunning figure, he was always recognized first and foremost as the point of contact. Putting on a winning smile, Delia would half-listen to the senator who had approached them. A light touch to her elbow was the signal for her to take off. They could discuss the details later, but for now, she’d been given the night to enjoy herself.

Making her way toward the bar, she dispensed with the formal pleasantries. Those with money considered her favorably. Those in government organizations were a different matter. PRISM Corporation was the most successful private contracting organization in the fight against unethical research. Their teams were comprised of the best agents whom hadn’t been swept up the powers that be. The faint look of distaste on the faces of others rolled away as she considered her options. These events always made her uncomfortable. It was hard to on edge all the time, especially here where the wolves were supposed to be kept civil. Delia was contemplating leaving, when she felt a grip on her elbow. “We need to talk. Now.” The voice was gruff, the tug on her elbow insistent. All the training in the world couldn’t prepare one for this kind of confrontation. No one ever said the past stayed in the past. Their quick steps became echoed in the hall as they passed a few people in deep discussion. They stopped at a door, and she was ushered into a dimly lit conference room. As the door closed, her arms came up to cross over her chest. Any protection against the emotional onslaught was welcome, grey eyes considering the large form before her, chin raised just slightly.

“If you wanted a private meetin’ all you had to do was call, Red.” The wry smile on her face was cut short when she saw his expression, her southern drawl making her words just that much more cutting. Stubbled, his light eyes focused on her intensely it became quickly apparent that this was the time nor place for her wit. “What the hell are you doing here, Blondie?” She’d used his nickname to wound him, on any level she could because it took away from her own tin cup of sorrow. But he was going for blood, aiming his focus on the sensitivity she claimed she no longer had. “I get a mission report, and I find out that you’re out there, gunning for hire. What the fuck is that?!” Chris Redfield was pissed to say the least. For all of their history and everything they’d been through, she rejected an offer from BSAA to join something he detested.

A muscle worked in her jaw, eyes narrowing as she considered her answer, “What business is it of yours? I can make decisions without consulting you!” The tears were welling up, they always welled up when she was close to him, but she was determined to swallow them down. She was going to be strong because she had to be. They’d made an impasse, or rather, Chris had decided on an impasse and shattered her heart in the process. “That’s not what this is about. This work is dangerous and doesn’t leave any room for people to be reckless—“ Raising a hand, she cut him off. She’d heard this from him and her brother before. Everyone was so busy trying to protect her that they’d forgotten she was capable. “If you called me in here to preach, I’ll just be seein’ myself to the door.” Having expected an answer or retort, she was caught off guard by the sound of his fist hitting the table. “This isn’t a goddamn joke. I can’t do this knowing that you’re out there.” His eyes were searching for any sign of her understanding his confession.

Casting her gaze down and attempting to look away were too much, and one calloused hand would reach out, catching her chin. “I know what I’ve done, but I won’t stand by and see you get harmed.” This motion was something of a gamble. Delia had always had a thing about her face being touched, and while he normally respected her need for distance, he wouldn’t give up the advantage she’d left open for him. “You have a lot of fucking nerve.” A hesitant motion was pulling her away from him. She wanted desperately to believe that he had confessed something, anything about his feelings. But she’d waited for so long she’d given that ship up as having sailed. It was just easier that way. One moment they’d been incredibly close, intimate, and from all she’d gathered inseparable. But that had all changed when he’d come back from a mission to rescue Bravo team. Whatever it was, it had made him come back and tell her in the harshest way possible that she needed to get the hell out of his life. She’d tried to make sense of it for a while, and after a spell that brokenhearted feeling faded away into a dull aching. Her emotions raw, her boundaries setting in stone to keep people out, lest she suffer again.

He was reaching out, brushing some stray hair behind her ear. Her immediate reaction was to jerk away from his touch, her eyes closed as she fought desperately against the tears. Cautiously, Chris brought an arm around her, bringing Delia in for an embrace. There were supposed to be words that could heal this rift, but sometimes words pale in comparison to what a man is trying to convey. His fingers trembled somewhat before pressing against the exposed curve of her back. Rubbing tentatively, his lips found her ear, placing a light kiss against the delicate shell of its helix. “I know. I fucked up. I fucked up bad. “ Redfield wasn’t a betting man, but he felt confident in his ability to read others. Pulling back to look into her eyes, he could read each thought as it crossed her features. The micro expressions that hinted at doubt, which morphed into hope. He felt a grip in his chest as that hopeful expression flitted away. She wanted so desperately to believe him. The breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding was slowly released as she looked him in the face, really looked him in the face and saw the same sincere expression she’d witnessed in the morning. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me, Red.” The nickname was gentler this time, spoken softly as she pressed her forehead against his. “Never could forget about you, but you already know that.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze, his neck brushing against her neck taking in the scent he’d known so well.


End file.
